


only kid from high school who is still in love with you

by gob_bluth



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Somewhat Songfic, besides gob michael gm and tracy the rest are minor, i dont know what this is and why its so long it was meant to be 4k at most, i made gob way too intellectual sounding hes an idiot but i love him, implied prostitution, the tags make it look much darker than it is?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 20:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gob_bluth/pseuds/gob_bluth
Summary: Gob moved ever so slightly, trying not to disturb Michael, and pressed his lips against the top of Michael’s head, “You are water twelve feet deep, and I am boots made of concrete.” And how foreign those words felt, tumbling out of Gob’s mouth, finding home in Michael’s soft hair.But they were true, in a world with infinite possibilities and fates out of his control, he knew this was how things were meant to be, forever and always. Him and Michael.





	only kid from high school who is still in love with you

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from the front bottoms "twelve feet deep"  
> inspired solely by [this playlist](https://8tracks.com/bluthsbees/only-kid-from-high-school-who-s-still-in-love-with-you) i made
> 
> i started this fic three or four different times, unsure if i wanted to write this and then put it out into the world only to finish all of it over the span of two days. i'm still unsure, given it's material, but i'm somewhat proud of it. i hope you enjoy.

 

_“Truth or lie... he had always chosen the lie, to spare his little brother any unpleasant truth.”_

― Cornelia Funke, _Reckless_

 

Hands tracing skin, whispered confessions, tangled limbs under sheets with the fan on high. Sweat on foreheads, shaky fingers and cold toes. All things going to be lost in the fire consuming them both at a rapid pace, an inextinguishable flame, all consuming. What started as purely _innocent_ (and Gob always questioned if it even started as that, maybe it just _started_ ) and just, _help_ in a sticky situation, turned into so much more. It was unstoppable, it was bound to happen (and believing Gob had no control over anything in his life, he never tried to stop it). Gob accepted, as he held Michael in his hands and he drifted off into a hazy sleep, the fan above their heads in their shared room softly moving Michael’s hair, that this was how it was meant to be and always will be. Gob smiled, counting the freckles on Michael’s cheeks and wanting to one day kiss every single dot on his face, that he was more than fine (as, well, fucked up as it was) with it always being like this.

Gob moved ever so slightly, trying not to disturb Michael, and pressed his lips against the top of Michael’s head, “ _You are water twelve feet deep, and I am boots made of concrete.”_ And how foreign those words felt, tumbling out of Gob’s mouth, finding home in Michael’s soft hair.

But they were true, in a world with infinite possibilities and fates out of his control, he knew this was how things were meant to be, forever and always. Him and Michael.

Michael stirred, Gob’s words and movements waking him out of his light slumber.

“Shh, Mikey,” Gob whispered, tracing circles on Michael’s bare back, “go back to sleep.”

“Don’t wanna sleep.” He smiled, eyes still closed. “Just wanna lay here. With you.”

Gob let out a light chuckle, “I think we can make that happen. Until dinner time at least.”

Michael groaned into Gob’s chest, and Gob smiled down at him, wishing to also be able to lay here all day, for all of time even, with him. Be free from the chaotic life just downstairs.

“Can’t we just stay up here all day, Gob?” Michael asked, quiet against Gob’s chest. “Say we’re sick? It’s not like they’ll really care.” His voice was dark, words slow and even as they escaped his mouth. He wasn’t wrong, if Gob said Michael was sick and that Gob, in turn, got sick they wouldn’t really give a damn. They might demand the two eat dinner, paint a picture of perfect, loving family, but they wouldn’t _do_ anything, probably wouldn’t even notice that neither of the boys showed signs of sickness.

“Sure, guy.” Gob ran his long fingers through Michael’s hair, quietly counting the minutes until they needed to be downstairs for dinner, before Lindsay or their mom got too suspicious and came sniffing around. A little white lie for now wouldn’t hurt.  

 

\------

 

Michael’s face was lit up with a smile, his skin tanned from long shifts at the banana stand, freckles golden and splattered across his face. His hands, rough and barely stained with chocolate, were toying with the hem of his shirt, worrying the button over and over again.

“You’re not serious, are you?” Michael asked, voice squeaking with nerves and excitement.

“As serious as cancer,” Gob replied, tying his laces on his beat-up converse. On his heel there was a heart Michael had drawn in red sharpie late one night. It was only fitting that Michael was his Achille’s heel (the only thing he remembered from his sophomore year English class, of course it applied to Michael).

“Gob,” Michael said, voice more serious. “Dad’s gonna kill you.”

“Well, dad’s not gonna find out.” Gob looked into Michael’s eyes, “Is he?”

Michael gulped, “Well, not from _me.”_

Gob smiled, moving a step closer to Michael and ran a hand up his brother’s arm, “Well then there’s nothing to worry about.”

Gob slid the fake ID into Michael’s sweaty palm, letting his hand linger for a split second before sliding it back into his own pocket. He found some club down by the pier, hidden behind countless gift shops, that was perfect for celebrating his 21st birthday. Unfortunately, Michael was only 18, but Gob didn’t have many (well, really _any_ ) friends to drag along with him so Michael was his victim of the night.

“This doesn’t even look like me,” Michael said, staring at his very _obviously_ fake ID. “Also, I’d never pass for a Miguel.”

“What, Miguel is close to Michael!” Gob exclaimed, smile widening as he watched the gears turning in Michael’s head as he found plot hole after hole in Gob’s last-minute plan. “At least I didn’t make you older than 22, _that_ would never fly.”

“ _This_ isn’t going to fly anyways,” Michael crossed his arms, “I’m not going.”

“Relax, guy.” Gob rolled his eyes. “I heard this place barely glances at your ID anyways, not if you’re cute enough.” He emphasized his point with a wink at Michael, which only made Michael blush and roll his eyes. “ _I’ll wear cool clothes, you could show some skin.”_

“Cool?” Michael huffed, brushing over the ‘show some skin’ comment. “Like your kids party magician look, I’m sure that’ll impress the ladies.”

Gob shimmied into his velvet blazer, part of his kids’ party magician outfit, before glancing back at Michael – hand on the light switch, signaling for them to leave, “Who said anything about impressing the ladies?” He flipped the light switch off, leaving Michael in the darkness.

Michael tiptoed after his brother, arms still crossed and doubts heavy in his mind. He hated how little Gob cared for rules, how little he cared what would happen if Michael and him were caught – how hard the hand would come down on them (figuratively but more literally). Their dad would beat the disobedience out of them, but Gob would just go pushing more buttons and testing the limits of their dads fist over and over again. It infuriated Michael. Michael saw himself as the perfect law-abiding citizen (well, until Gob came up with some insane scheme like tonight) and often secretly smiled when their father told Gob to be more like Michael – smiled until he was spreading Neosporin on Gob’s fresh bruises and kissing away his drying tears. Gob only cried after their dad was done, never in front of their father.

“’ _Flash a fake, so we will both get in’_ ”, Michael angrily whispered under his breath, quoting Gob from earlier. Michael was anticipating them getting caught by the bartender, him waiting on the sidewalk as Gob failed to smooth-talk the bouncer from calling the cops (or worse, George Sr.) to come pick them up and then Gob getting his ass kicked. What a way to spend a birthday, Michael thought, Gob was an idiot.

“Hey Gob,” Michael asked once they reached the bottom floor of Balboa Towers. The parking lot was empty and dimly lit as they opened the wide doors, freeing them.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you ever ask for useful gifts for your birthday?” Michael asked as he looked down at Gob’s blue Moped.

Gob laughed as he plopped the one helmet on Michael’s head, against Michael’s will. “I don’t think mom and dad even know it’s my birthday.” Gob stopped laughing at the sad reality. “Maybe for Christmas I’ll ask for a Segway.”

Michael pushed his brother lightly on the arm, before fastening the helmet on his head and saddling on the moped behind Gob.

“Hold on tight,” Gob chuckled, before driving off into the California night.

 

_Now we're dancing, we're so drunk_

_We are so cool, we are so punk_

Surprisingly, Michael got into the club. The bouncer didn’t even _check_ his ID, just let him slide in after Gob before flirting with the girls behind him. Purple and blue lights lit the club as bass heavy music pumped within the walls, some top 40 music Michael didn’t recognize. He stuck close to Gob’s side, not wanting to be thrown into the sweaty pile forming on the dance floor. Girls danced, grinding on sleazy men, dressed in skimpy tops and pleather miniskirts and their bangs stuck to their foreheads. Michael gulped and looked away, feeling like an intruder if he had looked a second longer.

Michael instinctively reached for Gob’s hand as Gob sped up closer to the bar but dropped it when he saw a boy from his class in the dance pile. They reached the bar finally, Michael ducked his head hoping no one else from school would be at the club.

“What can I get you boys?” The women behind the bar asked, eyeing Michael up and down before turning her glossed smile to Gob. He instantly, of course, ate up the attention and bared his teeth in what he thought was his ‘seductive smile’ (no matter how many times Michael laughed at it, throwing his sock at Gob’s head).

“We’ll start with two shots,” Gob responded, smile growing wider as his eyes flashed quickly to Michael then back to the bartender.

“Of?” She asked, giggling as she brushed her pink hair behind her ear. Michael looked away, slight frown on his face.

“Well, we _are_ in California, so,” Gob brushed his chin like he was deep in thought, “tequila.”

“That had no correlation, idiot,” Michael said after the bartender left to get their order. Gob just smiled at him, letting his right hand drop to brush against Michael’s hip.

“Here you boys go,” the bartender set down two full shot glasses in front of them before going to the next waiting customers, “enjoy.”

Gob picked up the two shot glasses, handing one to Michael before. Michael clinked his glass against Gob’s and then they both knocked them back. It burned Michael’s throat but he sort of enjoyed it, maybe Gob was onto something breaking some rules (not that Michael would ever tell him and encourage Gob to keep breaking rules).

“Happy birthday,” Michael smiled at his brother, setting his empty glass down on the counter.

“Thanks Mikey,” Gob smiled – not his seductive smile, or his ‘let’s sneak out’ smile but an honest to god genuine smile that Michael _knew_ was reserved for only him, for moments of sentiment that no one else in the family could ever know about. “Thanks for celebrating with me.”

“’Course,” Michael rolled his eyes, his own form of a genuine smile filling his face as Gob’s hand brushed up against his hip again, “pretty shitty birthday if you came to a club to get smashed by yourself.”

Gob let out a loud laugh, his head tilting back and his hair (in need of a haircut but also showing signs of their father’s own hairline) falling down onto his forehead. “Let’s go dance, Mikey.”

Gob grabbed Michael’s wrist, dragging him against his will into the center of the small club. Bodies instantly rubbed up against both of them as they moved around, trying to find some rhythm to dance to. Michael kept a small smile on his face as he watched his brother let loose and enjoy himself, free from prying eyes and free from an abusive fist. He looked happy, much happier than he was in their home. It was a good look on him, Michael thought as he slowly swayed to the music. Gob was an enthusiastic dancer, elbowing girls to the left of him without a care in the world, his feet tapping the ground hard as he moved his head up and down. After about five minutes a small clearing formed around them the more Gob stepped on peoples toes and gave them small bruises.  

Gob stopped, sweat dripping down his neck and panting like a dog, “How about another round of shots?”

“You go ahead, I’ll drive us home,” Michael responded, watching his brother race off to the bar leaving Michael alone on the dance floor. In no time he was back, another tequila shot downed and he lept back into even sloppier dance moves.

“Is this your first-time drinking?” Michael half shouted over the music, still stiffly bobbing alongside Gob’s own sporadic movements.

“Fuck no, guy,” Gob laughed, bouncing around. His converse, black high tops (a Christmas gift from Lindsay), scuffed across the floor.

Michael figured that after all the nights Gob had spent at high school parties (even after graduation) he would have built up more tolerance, but Gob was a total lightweight Michael realized. In later years Michael would also conclude that Gob was a touchy drunk, an emotional drunk.

“Dance with me!” Gob shouted, sliding into place behind Michael. He grabbed Michael’s hips and slowed his own movements, starting to rock behind Michael. Michael wanted to enjoy it, but they were in public and people could _see_ them. Gob still persisted, lowering his head to try and kiss Michael’s neck. Michael jumped, spinning around and getting out of Gob’s drunken embrace, remembering that he saw a kid from school earlier.

“Not here,” Michael said, too quiet under the heavy and loud music. The crowd was too big around them, they were too vulnerable here. It might have been loud but Gob got the message even in his hazy state, coming to a stilled position. Michael met his eyes, a moment of understanding passing between the two of them.

“Let’s go home Gob,” Michael said, the two of them still staring emotionless at the other, “We don’t want to push our luck.”

They exited the bar and Michael fitted the helmet onto Gob’s head, a moment of subdued tenderness. They got onto the Moped, Michael driving them home. He pretended to not notice how tight Gob was gripping him, how warm his brother felt against his sweaty back.

 

_“He remembered running through the streets of Alicante with Tavvy in his arms, stumbling on the cracked paving. trying to keep his little brother's face mashed against his shoulder so that he wouldn't see the blood and death all around him.”_

_―_ Cassandra Clare

 

They’d been caught. The doorman turned over security footage from when they snuck out the next day. George Sr. didn’t trust Gob, he didn’t want him corrupting what he thought could his one good son, and had paid a hefty amount to the front desk to keep an eye out in case Gob tried anything.

“Told you,” Michael whispered, trying to lighten to mood as he pressed an ice pack to Gob’s eye. Gob’s left eye glared at Michael. “Maybe, we could have gone out the backdoor?”

Gob snorted, not replying. He ran his hand through his wet hair, looking at the ground with his one good eye.

“We still would have been caught,” Gob muttered. Michael didn’t reply, just pressing the ice pack to Gob’s eye gently, once more. Underneath it was already purple, swelling up. Underneath Gob’s thin shirt were more yellow and green bruises, kicks curtesy of George Sr. Michael saw a quick glimpse of them as he helped Gob limp into the shower, looking away not to embarrass Gob. The thing was that Michael never was hit, he just had to watch Gob get the living daylights beat out of him as their dad yelled about how ‘he’d beat the stupid’ out of Gob. One time, a few years back when Gob was 16 and caught with a blunt on their balcony, George Sr. had all three kids watch as Lucille prepared breakfast. George Sr. always waited till the next day to teach Gob his lesson, letting the anticipation build. Sometimes Michael prayed he would get hit instead of Gob, wish one of his ribs would be broken instead of his older brother’s sending Michael to the hospital in his place. It never happened.

“Mikey,” Gob said. Michael stilled his movements, slowly removing the ice pack from Gob’s face. He met his brother’s eyes, Gob’s normally bright hazel eyes dimmed and glazed over with stale tears. “You have to get out of here, as soon as you can.”

Michael leaned back, sitting fully on the ground. “I’ll be going to college in two months, less than that. But what about you? What are you gonna do?”

“I’ll be fine,” Gob winced as he moved, hand moving to hold his stomach. “I’m always fine.” He tried to convince Michael with a smile but his eye was almost completely swollen shut and blood was crusted in the corner of his lips.

“Gob,” Michael sighed, moving his left hand to cup Gob’s cheek. “Move out with me, we can get an apartment together. You can’t stay here.”

Gob met his eyes, cupping Michael’s hand with his own. “I gotta look after Buster.” 

Michael leaned forward, resting his forehead against his brother’s. Gob winced in slight pain but wrapped his other hand in Michael’s hair on the back of his head, bringing him even closer. “At least come to my place if things get too much. Promise?”

“Of course,” Gob whispered, knowing he’d never plague his younger brother with his problems once Michael finally escaped.

 

_And yes, we can keep living like this_

_As long as you're here I will live like this_

Michael moved out the last week of August. He had gotten placed in a shared student apartment with another guy right off of campus, a ten-minute walk from his classes at UC Irvine. Gob helped him move his small number of boxes, throwing in a tacky throw pillow as a housewarming gift he had picked up from Target. Michael hugged it close to his body as Gob walked around the apartment, setting down a box on the small circular kitchen table.

“Nice place you got, guy.” Gob nodded approvingly, leaning against the table. He was dressed in loose linen pants and a loose black shirt, arms crossed. His face was trying to be emotionless but his eyes shone with sadness as he looked at his brother.

“We still have time to find our own place,” Michael repeated. “Next semester you and I can get an apartment, move in with me.” He’d been telling Gob this for the past two months, ever since they were caught sneaking out for Gob’s birthday (Gob was right, their parents didn’t remember it was Gob’s birthday).

“I told you, someone’s gotta look after Buster,” Gob said with a lopsided grin.

“Quit lying!” Michael threw the pillow down on the ground. “You don’t give a fuck about Buster, or Lindsay so don’t try that one. Move in with me.”

Gob moved closer to Michael - who was still fuming, angered easily – and kissed his forehead before leaving Michael in his half set up apartment.

Michael watched the door shut, mouth opening to yell one more thing at Gob. One more plea, another beg for his brother to stay. But no words came out and the door closed, leaving Michael in the apartment alone. He looked at the pillow at his feet, bending down to pick it up, feeling the soft fur under his hands. He placed it on his bed, bare without bedding. Maybe if Gob came back Michael could actually thank him for his gift, Michael thought as he continued running his hands through the fur.

 

\------

 

School started for Michael, leaves starting to fall onto the ground and under his feet as he walked around campus. Michael had tried calling Gob but no calls were returned. He saw him at dinners when Michael was forced to go home to see the family (‘ _don’t be such a hermit Michael’_ his mother had snapped at him, Michael could hear Buster telling Gob to leave him alone in the background and his mother then in turn snapped at Gob before hanging up on Michael). He didn’t know why Gob wouldn’t speak with him, maybe he was busy, maybe he got a job (although, Michael had to bite back a laugh in his English 101 class at that thought). Michael stopped calling Gob two weeks ago when he had ten unreturned calls. They barely spoke at home now too, short exchanges before Gob would finish dinner quick and claim he had an event to get to (Michael would later pass him in the parking lot as he grabbed his bike to head back to his studio, smoking a joint and pretending he didn’t see Michael).

Michael tossed and turned in his bed, his mind keeping him up as he tried to stop thinking about his fucking brother for one minute. He yelled into the pillow Gob gifted him wanting to throw it at his older brothers’ head.

His phone rang from the kitchen. It was two a.m. Michael waited for his roommate to answer it, but when it kept ringing he had gone into the kitchen to get it.

“Hello?” He answered.

“Hey, Mikey,” Gob answered on the other line, voice heavy.

“Gob?” Michael responded. “What the fuck?”

“Interrupt something?” Gob chuckled, voice slurred.

“You’re drunk and it’s two a.m., why are you calling me?”

“Can’t a brother check in now and then?” Gob took a swig of something, pausing for a moment. “How’s school?”

“’ _How’s school?’_ ” Michael yelled into the phone, “I called you ten times asshole and you didn’t fucking respond.”

“Been busy, guy. Lighten up.”

“Fuck you, Gob.” Michael hung up the phone, storming into his room and slamming the door. He wanted to punch his brother.

The next morning his roommate looked at him worried, “Dude what happened last night? You yelled at someone and it woke me up.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again,” Michael muttered, staring into his cereal.

 

\-----

 

Gob kept calling early in the morning, not matter how many times Michael explained that he had a nine-a.m. class, had some sort of actual commitment. He also didn’t care that he might wake up Michael’s roommate.

“Quit lecturing me Mike, there’s a reason I didn’t go to college,” Gob sighed, definitely rolling his eyes on the other line.

 Michael chuckled, it was 1:27 a.m. and it was the fifth night Gob had called him, rambling on about anything and most of the time drunk. Gob never said why he called, or why he didn’t call back for so long. Michael never asked after the first night.

“Where are you Gob?” Michael interrupted Gob from rambling on about how he couldn’t figure out how to shoot flames out of his jacket (which Michael was glad about, scared for the children Gob was entertaining).

“At a payphone, where else?” Gob snorted as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why don’t you come over?” Michael tested, “Safer than a shady payphone in the middle of the night.”

There wasn’t a response, just deep breathing from the other line as Gob seemingly contemplated. This lasted two minutes, the seconds ticking in Michael’s mind as he held his breath.

“Listen, guy,” Gob slowly responded, letting out a deep sigh. “I gotta go, I’m out of change. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Gob—” Michael tried to respond but the connection had already ended. At least, Michael thought as he laid back against the wall, Gob had acknowledged their new nightly habit.

 

\-----

 

The phone rang almost on que, Michael had been counting down the minutes since midnight, just staring at the landline. Michael picked up on the first ring.

“Gob, we need to talk,” Michael said, cutting off his brother before he had a chance to speak.

“Sure,” Gob responded, voice warm and heavy. He’d been drinking again before calling, Michael could tell. He probably only called in the first place because of his drunken state and a payphone close to the bar.

“Why?” Michael asked, wanting to explain more but he didn’t find the words. The question fell flat and into the darkness, somewhere in between his night and Gob’s own night.

“ _Since when did ‘I wanna hear your voice’ not become a good excuse?”_ Gob responded, mumbling into the payphone’s line. Michael hung up before Gob could say anymore.

 

\-----

 

Gob didn’t call for a few weeks after that, he didn’t visit either but Michael never expected him too. It was midterms week and Michael tried to think as little of Gob as he could. Michael sort of missed the calls though, but he had no way of calling Gob first. He just waited every night, seeing if Gob would break. Michael briefly thought of calling the house phone, but didn’t want to be met with one of his other siblings or his parents. His roommate was definitely glad Gob stopped calling, he kept complaining how the ringing would wake him up as well as the slamming of Michael’s door at the end of every phone call.

“Who’s got you so riled up?” His roommate, Peter, would ask him every morning.

“Nothing,” Michael would respond on autopilot, “It won’t happen again.”

“You keep saying that and _yet_ , every night there’s a phone call for you.”

Michael didn’t respond, he didn’t feel like diving into his fucked up family story. Didn’t want to say how his older brother would call him every morning drunk or high just to ramble on about how he missed Michael’s touch, how he wanted to hear his voice or how he just wished someone, anyone – _Michael –_ would be there to ice his fresh bruises because he kept getting caught sneaking out.

That night there was a call. Michael wanted desperately ignored it but he ran to the phone.

“Gob?” Michael responded, voice hopeful despite not wanting to hear his brother’s voice.

“Uh,” The voice on the other line paused, “It’s Vicky. I’m calling for Peter?”

Michael dropped the landline, letting it hang on its cord before shouting for Peter, “This time it’s for you.”

Michael slammed his door. At least he had that satisfaction as he heard giggling in the kitchen.

_“She hated that she was still so desperate for a glimpse of him, but it had been this way for years.”_

― Julia Quinn, The Secret Diaries of Miss Miranda Cheever

 

Michael was home for Thanksgiving, he hadn’t talked to Gob in three weeks and four days. The last call he had answered was Vicky’s (Peter’s now girlfriend) and his mother’s telling him when to be there for dinner. He stood in the living room, crystal glass full of ice water as he listened to his parents bicker in the kitchen. Lindsay was flipping through a magazine on the couch and Buster anxiously waited in their mother’s chair. Gob was still upstairs in their old shared room, he had yet to come down. Michael had been there for 47 minutes and counting, silently waiting for his older brother to come down the stairs and just talk to him like he used to.

Michael set down the glass on the coffee table. Enough was enough, he thought, he’d make the move finally. He walked up the stairs to his old room, the door was closed. He paused, seeing if he could hear anything on the other side but it was silent. He opened the door expecting to see Gob doing something idiotic, wasting time to avoid Michael. Instead Gob was laying on hid bed, listening to his Walkman and had his eyes closed. He hadn’t even heard or seen Michael come in.

Michael stormed over ripping the earphones off of Gob’s head before smacking him on the back of his head.

“What the fuck Michael,” Gob scowled, rubbing the back of his head.

“What the fuck, Gob,” Michael snapped in return, throwing the Walkman to the end of the bed. Michael loomed over Gob, who was still sitting on the bed and avoiding eye contact with Michael. Michael was fuming, he just wanted to keep hitting his idiotic older brother, his selfish brother.

Gob didn’t say anything and they both just stayed there in silence for a few minutes, both of them too proud to break first. Eventually, Gob raised his head to look at Michael and both of them shattered in that split second. Michael sat down on the bed and Gob reached for his hand, an unspoken treaty. They stayed silent for a few more minutes, relishing in the peace they brought to each other (peace that came after months of anger, but peace nonetheless). Gob held Michael’s hand, rubbing his thumb over Michael’s soft skin.

“I’m sorry for hitting you,” Michael said first. Gob’s thumb stilled but his hand still held Michael’s own.

“Nothing I can’t take,” Gob replied, forced laugh. He brought his other hand to Michael’s hair, recently trimmed (too short in Gob’s opinion) and ran his fingers through it. Michael smiled at his brother’s touch.

“Why haven’t you called me?” Michael asked. “Why haven’t you visited?”

Gob sighed, hand still in Michael’s hair, “I thought you needed your space.” The unspoken _away from me_ still on the tip of Gob’s tongue as he pressed his mouth to Michael’s cheek.

“Gob, I didn’t _want_ that though. Why didn’t you just listen to me in the first place?”

“Mike,” Gob sighed, kissing Michael’s cheek again. “I just wanted to give you space, what we have isn’t healthy. I just was looking out for you.”

 For once, Michael thought, Gob had some sense in his brain. But Michael didn’t want sense, he didn’t want logical explanations or decisions made for him – he had his whole life to look forward to that. He just wanted Gob. He wanted late nights and taboo kisses, he wanted them to continue and not worry about how reckless and selfish it was, he just wanted it.

“God, Gob,” Michael laughed, his own hand reaching for Gob’s hair (too long in Michael’s opinion) and running his hand through the tangles. “I don’t care.” He emphasized his point with a quick kiss, relishing in the sight of Gob’s smile afterwards. “I want you to keep calling me. I want whatever this is.”

“I feel like I’m using you,” Gob said, dropping his hand from Michael’s hair and pushing himself against the wall. “I’m taking advantage of you, my own kid brother. I’m fucked up Mikey.”

Michael moved closer to Gob, resting his head against Gob’s broader shoulder, “I’m fucked up too then.” He found Gob’s hand, holding it in his own.

The two of them laid there, in silence, for another half an hour before they heard their mother’s shout telling them to come down for dinner. Gob kissed Michael once more before leading the way downstairs to the rest of their family. Michael kept smiling throughout dinner, his foot rubbing up against Gob’s secretly under the table as their mother squawked at Buster and Lindsay stabbed at her dinner. They were all fucked up in their family after all, Michael thought as he felt Gob’s hand on his knee during dessert.

After dinner Michael gathered his things, wishing his family goodbye and telling him he’d come by next weekend for dinner again. Gob snuck out behind Michael, their family not paying much mind as Michael left. The two of them walked in silence to the elevators, wishing each other their own goodbyes.

“Move in with me,” Michael whispered into Gob’s chest, his arms around his brother in a tight embrace.

Gob kissed the top of his head, “I’ll call you later.”

 

_Calling you three in the morning, laugh at sleep that we'll both lose_

Gob kept his promise, he called every night. To Michael’s surprise (and to his roommate’s relief) Gob called relatively earlier and no longer in a drunken state (although some nights Gob would call after bar hopping by himself, whispering things into the payphone that made Michael blush and hope his roommate was asleep). They’d talk early into the morning, despite the pile of homework Michael neglected to listen to his brother tell stories about magic tricks and trying to get into some Magician magazine.

            It was nice, Michael was happy. He looked forward to every call, telling Gob of dogs he saw or problems in his intro to accounting class. They’d talk and laugh while Michael prepared dinner, he’d be stirring spaghetti and be absolutely cracking up over some botched trick Gob had done (‘ _Gob you can’t just, you can’t do that in front of kids!’_ Michael had wheezed into the landline, clutching his stomach). Sometimes Michael would catch his roommates’ eye in passing as he spent hour after hour talking to Gob.

            “Dude,” Peter exclaimed that night – it was 10 p.m. and Michael had been talking to Gob for two hours, nothing important just spur of the moment conversations to fill the static silence. “I have to use the phone.”

            “Gob?” Michael interrupted his brother, smile leaving his face. “I have to go, Pete’s got to use the phone.”

            “Tell him to go fuck himself then,” Gob replied, chuckling lightly. Michael rolled his eyes, smile on his face as he watched his roommate’s face turn redder and redder.

            “Seriously,” Peter muttered, crossing his arms.

            “I can hear him you know,” Gob said from the other line, “Tell him to get his panties out of his knot. I’ll call you tomorrow Mikey.”

            “Talk to you tomorrow,” Michael said before hanging up. The line went dead. Peter grabbed the landline.

“Sure you’re talking to your brother? Or is that just a cover for some secret boyfriend,” Peter challenged as Michael sat down at the kitchen table to finish his assignments for the next day. Michael just rolled his eyes, thinking that possibly the two were interchangeable.

 

 

_“And Jonathan made David swear again by his love for him, for he loved him as he loved his own soul.”_

\- 1 Samuel 20:17

 

The day after Christmas Gob insisted on waking Michael up early to show him something, a gift in a way Gob had said. He had woken Michael up, in their childhood room, with tickles and a quick kiss on the temple of his forehead.

“Gob,” Michael groaned, but still smiling. It was 6 a.m., but Gob insisted the left early before the rest of the family was up. The two of them left, not bothering to shower but instead quickly dressing in a sweatshirt before they got onto the back of Gob’s Moped. Michael clung to his brother’s back, trying to not doze off as Gob meandered through the streets of Newport Beach.

“Keep your eyes shut,” Gob told him at a red light, Michael closed his eyes, burying his helmeted head into Gob’s back. The light turned green and Gob kept driving.

After another three minutes the Moped stopped again. “Keep ‘em shut,” Gob said, helping Michael off of the scooter and guiding him up some steps.

“Where are we?” Michael asked, helmet still on his head and eyes shut. Gob was leading him, holding Michael’s hands as they slowly walked up stairs.

Gob stopped suddenly, making Michael bump into him before they both chuckled. Gob lifted off Michael’s helmet, whispering in his ear to open his eyes. Michael looked around, they were at what appeared to be a shady motel. He looked at Gob confused, wondering why he brought them here. Gob smiled at him then turned to unlock the door, room 20B.

“Ta-da!” Gob exclaimed, ushering Michael in. “I got myself an apartment.”

Michael smiled, looking at his older brother. It was shitty, Michael thought, but at least Gob wouldn’t be under the same roof as their father anymore. Inside there was already a yellow loveseat, a high table with two barstools and a bed in the corner. On the nightstand there was already a picture of him and Michael, a picture taken at their family’s beach house from when they were kids.

“I’m glad,” Michael finally responded, still staring at the picture and smiling. Gob followed Michael’s line of sight and smiled, grabbing his brother’s hand momentarily.

“I have another gift for you,” Gob said before going to the bed and reaching under one of the pillows. He handed it to Michael, a small square box wrapped messily in Santa Claus wrapping paper. Michael unwrapped it, smile still wide on his face. Inside there was a wooden picture frame with the words ‘brothers by blood, friends by choice’ etched into the wood, and a picture of him and Gob when they were 11 and 14 at the San Diego Zoo. Gob had found a disposable camera outside the zoo with 5 shots still left on it and had Lindsay take one of them together in front of the penguins (Michael’s favorite animal to this day). They went to get them developed the next day only to discover that the film had been filled with nude shots from the previous owner, four shots of Michael walking around the zoo and the one of them together. Gob still had the four other pictures of just Michael, stashed in a shoebox now under his new bed in his new place.

Michael looked at his brother, who was staring at his feet admiring the bright red socks with wands and rabbits on them (a gift from Buster this Christmas). “I love it, thank you.” Gob looked up at Michael, twin smiles on their faces as they melted into each other’s arms.

Michael returned to his own shared apartment that night and set down the picture frame next to his bed. He reached under his bed for his own shoebox with pictures, the ticket stub from the zoo and various movie tickets for rated R movies Gob had taken him to. Michael, a few years after the trip to the zoo, had bought a stash of disposable cameras and filled them with pictures of Gob. Pictures of Gob at the private beach building a sandcastle with Buster, Gob at his first magic gig, pictures of Gob sleeping in the middle of a summer day. At the bottom of the stack was Michael’s favorite photo, he had been going through an artsy phase when he turned 15. It was a shot of Gob, illuminated by moonlight, as he waded through the ocean one summer night at the family’s beach. He wasn’t looking at the camera, but through the camera as Michael snapped the last shot on the film before tossing the camera into the sand with their towels and went to join Gob in the water.

 

\-----

 

It was finals week for the spring semester and Michael was losing his mind. He had three papers to write and four mandatory exams, and on top of that his roommate was a dick. His girlfriend and him had broken up and so Peter turned to a string of ladies coming in and out of the apartment at various times of the night, which Michael could _hear_ through the thin walls. One night it was too much and Michael got up, slamming the apartments door and racing down the stairs to grab his bike. He rode through the streets, at 3a.m., in his sweatpants and UC Irvine sweatshirt to Gob’s apartment.

Michael raced up the stairs, locking his bike up first, and pounded on the door. Gob answered after a few knocks, clearly just having been woken up. He opened the door wider, letting Michael in, as he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“I hate my roommate,” Michael fumed, throwing himself onto Gob’s sofa. Gob lifted up Michael’s legs and sat down, placing Michael’s legs back over Gob’s own. “ _Maybe college won’t work out, and I can come stay at your house._ ”

“Stay in school, Mikey,” Gob replied, rubbing his hand momentarily over Michael’s leg.

“That’s why you got this place right?” Michael asked, voice small and worried. “For us to live together right?”

Gob laughed nervously, “I got this place so dad would stop having chances to beat the shit out of me, guy.”

Michael sat up, removing his legs from Gob’s touch. He stood up, moving to Gob’s kitchen and opening the cupboards. He found a bottle of vodka, half empty, grabbed it and left Gob still sitting in his boxers on his sofa. Gob didn’t come after him as he ran down the stairs. Michael looked up at his brother’s apartment before racing off on his bike, the door had only been shut.

Michael slammed the door behind him and started chugging the bottle. He collapsed by the front door, swinging back the bottle and spluttering as vodka splashed onto his shirt.

“Fuck Gob,” Michael whispered, taking another gulp. “Fuck him, what does he know? He’s a magician for fucks sake.”

 His roommate came out in the morning to find Michael passed out still by the door and bottle still in his hand.

“Listen mom,” Peter said into the landline. “ _I’m supposed to be at class now, but my roommate just passed out._ I don’t think he’s ever had alcohol before.”

Peter hung up the landline and grabbed Michael by the armpits and dragged him off to the toilet, encouraging him to empty his stomach.

Fuck Gob, Michael thought as he vomited into the toilet.

 

_"...the thing with brothers is, you're supposed to take turns being the keeper. Sometimes you get to sit down and be the brother who is kept."_

―Orson Scott Card

 

Gob and him hadn’t spoken since that one night. Michael rented a studio by himself, in secret hopes that Gob would stumble to his door one night, and filled his time working at the banana stand over the summer for their dad. Michael had slid an envelope under Gob’s door the night before Gob’s birthday, with a mixtape of songs Michael remembered hearing from the night they snuck out to the club just last year. But, Gob had never called to say thanks.

Sometimes, while waiting for customers in the sweltering heat inside the stand, Michael thought he had seen Gob pass by. He’d crane his neck to watch as the person walked past him, but it was never Gob. Michael pounded his head against the counter of the stand, wanting to be rid of thoughts of Gob.

“Excuse me,” A voice interrupted Michael’s wallowing. “Are you still open?”

Michael shot up, met up with the eyes of a young girl with blonde curls. She had a nervous smile on her face as she clutched her beach bag.

“Oh yeah,” He replied, “What can I get you?”

She giggled, “Just one frozen banana, please.” Michael nodded, getting to work on the order and all thoughts of Gob out of his mind. He handed it to the girl, she had set down the two dollars on the counter already.

“Anything else I can get you?” He asked, putting the money in the register.

“Your number?” She giggled nervously. “Sorry, that was really forward of me.”

Michael ducked his head, laughing nervously as well. He scribbled his name and number on a piece of paper, sliding it over to the girl.

“I like forward,” Michael responded before the girl turned and left. That was a lie, he thought, Gob was never the forward one. Michael liked being the forward one, he liked being in control.

 

\-----

 

Michael ended up going on a few dates with the girl, Tracey, before finally kissing her one night on the beach and asking her to be his girlfriend. It wasn’t until he got home that he realized he had kissed Tracey in the same spot Gob had first kissed him when Michael was 15. Michael put his hand to his lips, realizing that Gob was now not the last person he had kissed.

His landline rang, interrupting his thoughts. Michael jumped up to answer it, ready for distraction.

“Hey babe.” Michael grinned into the phone.

“Hey to you too,” Gob answered on the other line. “I like that, when you call me babe.”

Michael’s stomach dropped, noting the slurred words from his brother. Gob and him hadn’t spoken in three months. Naturally, Michael thought, Gob would call once he had too much to drink.

“Gob,” Michael said. “Why are you calling?”

“I preferred babe,” Gob chuckled. “Just being a good brother. Thanks for the card, and the mixtape.”

“You’re welcome, but,” Michael paused, “I have to tell you something.”

“Sure baby,” Gob replied, voice drawling around the term of endearment. Gob only got really affectionate when he’d been drinking a lot, and fast too.

“I have a girlfriend now.”

“Good for you, guy.” With that the phone call ended.  Michael placed the phone back in its position on the wall.

They had never been exclusive, but neither of them had really dated either – at least, not since this _thing_ started. Gob had been with a few girls but never for the long term. Michael got flirted at but never responded, until just two weeks ago. But Gob had no right to be mad at Michael, he thought, they never labelled them. They didn’t have rules, Gob didn’t _own_ him. Michael went to the kitchen and took down the photo of Gob at the beach off of his fridge, placing it back in his shoebox with the others.

 

\-----

 

“This is a cute place,” Tracey said as she rubbed her hand over Michael’s thigh. Her eyes landed on the framed photo on his nightstand, his gift from Gob. “That your brother?”

“Yeah,” Michael squeaked as her hand moved farther north. “Uh, that’s my brother Gob. Can we not talk about him, uh, right now?”

She laughed before continuing, kissing Michael and laying down on the bed. Michael only thought of Gob once during the whole thing, ignoring how the photo seemed to be watching the two of them. Tracey pretended to not hear Michael mutter ‘ _Gob’_ instead of ‘ _God’_ at the end.

It continued like this for a year, they pretended it was fine.

 

\-----

 

“Michael, it isn’t funny!” Tracey pretended to be stern as she stood by the payphone, unbeknownst to either her of Michael it was the one Gob used to call from every night.

“And?” Michael laughed into the landline, propped against the wall as he listened to his girlfriend.

“ _And,”_ Tracey held back a giggle, “ _I cannot get in my room, get all my books and what I need._ My roommate has the sock on the door and once I went in there despite it, and oh boy, it was not a pretty sight.” Tracey was full on laughing at the end of her sentence, cracking up into the phone. Michael continued resting against the wall, spinning the cord in his left hand.

“Move in with me,” Michael said. Tracey stopped laughing.

“Michael,” Tracey nervously giggled, “Michael, you can’t be serious.”

“As serious as cancer,” He quipped back, remembering the night Gob had used it on him. He only saw Gob at holidays now, stilted conversations and pretending nothing was wrong. “Move in with me.”

“I mean, I would but,” Tracey tried to argue against his proposal, “my family is… I’d need to be engaged first for it to work.”

“Marry me,” Michael spoke in the phone, surprisingly calm. Words, declarations of love, didn’t mean much to him anymore.

 “Are you serious?” Tracey asked, voice quiet and low but still hopeful.

“As serious as cancer,” Michael smiled into the receiver.

“I mean, Michael,” Tracey giggled, tiny little breathy laughs, “this is all so sudden! I mean, _you’re all I need but I’m pretty sure—_ ”

“ _Your parents will never see?_ ” Michael challenged.

“Pretty much, we are only in college.”

“Tracey, if I was with you right now I’d get down on one knee and tell you there is nothing more that I want.”

Tracey cried into the phone, finally accepting his over the phone proposal and hung up when she ran out of quarters. Michael hung up his phone, thinking there was one thing he did want more.

 

_I'll let it be, 'cause it was never meant to be_

_I'll let it be_

Gob opened his P.O box, still in the same studio he had gotten when he was 21 in hopes of having some sanctuary. It didn’t last long, using it as a place of business when he fell short on cash and party gigs didn’t shell out enough for rent. Inside he found overdue bills, coupons and some fancy yellow envelope he thought was for the wrong person but it said ‘George Oscar Bluth II’ in fancy purple cursive. He opened it once he was back in his apartment, disregarding the bills, and his heart shattered.

_Michael Bluth and Tracey Thayer_

_Invite You to Their Wedding_

_January 21st, 1989_

Michael was getting married. Michael was getting _married_. Married. Michael, married. Michael with a woman at an altar, getting married.

“She’s probably some dog, anyways,” Gob told himself, setting the invite down on the table. “Probably knocked her up and now has to put a ring on it.”

He turned to the photo on his nightstand, he had never gotten around to decorating his place besides the one photo of him and Michael. He knew it was selfish, but, he sort of always hoped that Michael would never marry. That they could get a shot at growing old together.

Gob picked up the phone, dialing the number telling him to RSVP.

“Hello?” A women’s voice answered.

“Uh, is this Michael’s number?” Gob asked. “Michael Bluth?”

“Yes, this is Tracey. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Oh, yeah,” Gob nervously laughed, “This is Gob, Michael’s brother. Is Michael there?”

“Oh, Gob!” Tracey exclaimed and Gob got the uneasy feeling she put something together that she shouldn’t have but that was impossible. “One sec.”

Gob stood there nervously, he could hear Tracey calling for Michael and what sounded like a loud smooch, almost a comical kissing sound effect. Gob rolled his eyes.

“Gob?” Michael answered, voice clearly uneasy. “Been a long time.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, guy.” Gob ran his hands through his hair nervously. “You’re getting married. Congrats.”

“Thanks.” There was no emotion behind Gob’s or Michael sentiments, both of them on guard with each other. A moment of silence passed between them.

“Well, I guess I’ll—” Gob started, ready to not hear from Michael until the wedding.

“Wait, listen,” Michael interrupted, sighing. “I want you to be my best man.”

Gob thought it was some sort of sick joke on Michael’s behalf, to put Gob through that. But Michael never backtracked, didn’t laugh at the end.

“Sure, Mikey.” Gob felt his stomach knot as he continued, “Anything for you, you know that.”

“Thanks Gob,” Michael replied and Gob could almost feel the smile that was surely on Michael’s face. “Tracey wants you to come over for dinner, she wants to meet you.”

“Oh?” Gob asked, “So she’s heard about me?”

Michael laughed but didn’t answer the question instead just telling Gob to come over at six.

 

\-----

 

Gob knocked on the door, dressed in his beat-up converse (the heart Michael had drawn long ago was starting to fade, which Gob found pretty fucking ironic) and a loose white linen suit. He wanted to make a good impression, sure, but he was so fucking anxious just to _see_ Michael with someone that wasn’t _him_.

A cheerful redhead opened the door, “You must be Gob, I’m Tracey.” She wrapped Gob in a tight hug, he had no clue what to expect and awkwardly pat her back. “Come in.”

He smiled down at her and half wanted to wonder what Michael even saw in her but he understood – she was cheerful, bubbly and pretty, college educated and someone Michael could be seen with in public. She wasn’t a game of taboo, she didn’t come with consequences and rules. He followed her into the small apartment, feeling on edge wondering where Michael was until he emerged from the small bathroom.

“Hey Mike,” Gob let out a breath, then tried to cover his shock with a cough. Gob waited until Michael set the pace for the evening, staying rooted to the ground and unmoving. Michael walked up to Gob, hugging him in front of his fiancée.

“Good to see you Gob,” Michael said, letting go of Gob. Gob smiled, wondering if Michael meant what he said. “Tracey give him a tour while I set the table.” Michael leaned down and pecked his fiancée’s cheek, Gob wanted desperately to look away and ignore what he was seeing but he couldn’t. It was all too easy for Michael to fill this domestic role as young as he was, and Gob hated his brother for it.

“Well,” Tracey said, briefly touching her cheek before dropping her hand to her side. “This is the living room slash dining room.” She started walking further back into the apartment. “This is our tiny, little kitchen and just right there is the bathroom.” She opened another door. “And the bedroom, it’s not much but it’s enough for us,” She laughed, smiling at Gob.

Gob didn’t see much, just getting a quick peak of the bedroom but he saw the picture frame he had given Michael just two Christmas’s ago and thought about how far they’d come. It was still nice to know Michael still had it though, he assumed.

“It’s nice,” Gob finally spoke. “I’m still in a crappy studio I got two years ago.” He forced out a laugh.

“You still in that tiny box?” Michael asked, placing silverware on the table and not looking at Gob.

“Yeah,” Gob replied. He wanted to add on how Michael at one point wanted to move into that ‘tiny box’ with Gob, begged Gob for it even. Instead Gob sat down at the tiny table, across from Michael.

“So,” Tracey began, pointing her pasta filled fork at Gob, “Michael tells me you’re a magician.”

Michael laughed, “Trying to be a magician.”

“For your information,” Gob butted in, “I am a magician. Started an alliance and all.”

“Alliance?” Michael chuckled again, taking a bite of pasta.

“Yeah,” Gob said, staring right at Michael. “Make sure people don’t tell audience members how we do our illusions. It’s kind of a big deal among magicians.”

“That does sound important,” Tracey agreed, nodding her head. Gob looked at her, unsure if he was mocking her like Michael always used to. “Guess I’ll never know how you saw the lady in half.”

“Well, it’s not that hard actually you just take—” Gob started, enthusiastically moving his hands in the air and mimicking a sword in a box.

“Gob, I thought you weren’t supposed to tell us,” Michael snorted. Gob stopped talking and went back to eating his pasta.

“Michael also says you’re going to be his best man?” Tracey changed the subject, eyes shifting nervously between the two brothers.

“Uh, yeah, I guess?” Gob looked at Michael nervously. Under the table Michael’s foot tapped Gob’s, small smile on his face as he met Gob’s eyes.

“Yeah, he is.” Michael responded, foot still resting against Gob’s.

The night continued on with pleasant small talk and strawberry shortcake for dessert (‘ _Tracey’s favorite_ ’ Michael had said, brushing against Gob’s shoulder as he took the dishes to the kitchen). Tracey hugged Gob at the door, saying something about performing a small trick at the wedding which Michael quickly shot down.

Gob and Michael walked down the steps out to the parking lot, hands barely brushing on their short walk down. Michael burst out into laughter when he saw Gob’s Segway parked in the lot.

“See you finally traded in the Moped,” Michael laughed.

“Yeah, well. Not really driving around anyone else these days,” Gob replied, avoiding Michael’s gaze. Michael just hugged Gob goodbye before heading back up to the girl he loved.

 

_'Cause you are water twelve feet deep_

_And I am boots made of concrete_

“Some bachelor party,” Michael deadpanned as Gob led him into an empty hotel room. On the bed there was a bottle of unopened champagne. “Is a stripper going to pop out of a cake?”

“I didn’t plan on it,” Gob laughed, sliding up behind Michael and kissing his neck.

“Gob,” Michael tried to stop his brother, but almost immediately melted into the touch he missed so much.

“Come on, guy,” Gob kissed up Michael’s neck, “last night of freedom.”

Michael only laughed at that, leading Gob to the bed. “I did kind of miss this.”

Gob took off his jacket, “Saw my picture in your bedroom. Sorta perverted, don’t you think?”

Michael laughed as he took off his shoes, flinging them against the dresser. They landed right next to Gob’s already discarded boots, a sick twist of fate they both thought. That perhaps, this is how it it should always be. Michael ignored that little voice in his head and kissed Gob, wanting to enjoy himself. To be completely himself.   

Gob woke up the next morning to find Michael gone and a note on the table with words that Gob had once spoken to Michael scribbled on the notepad. Gob couldn’t help but smile despite himself.

 

\-----

 

It rained on Michael and Tracey’s wedding day, which turned out to be good luck as it helped extinguish the flames rising up her dress. Gob profusely apologized as Michael took him by the wrist and yelled how he should have never even invited Gob, how it was all Tracey’s idea in the first place. Their family watched as Michael kept yelling at Gob, who for once didn’t try and argue (their dad would later go on to say how he should have filmed it).

Gob and Michael didn’t talk for another 10 months until Michael rang him up to meet his newborn son, George Michael. And as Gob held his nephew in his arms, he finally realized his place in Michael’s world.

 

\-----

 

Michael didn’t keep much contact with Gob as years went by, minus a few times a year for George Michael to see his uncle. He just wanted George Michael to have a somewhat normal life as he watched his mother slowly die. Gob helped distract both of them up until the funeral.

George Michael went to a friend’s house that night and for the first time in 10 years Michael took Gob into his bed. They continued in a pattern after that.

“Move in with me and George Michael,” Michael whispered one night, his nose buried in-between Gob’s shoulder blades. “Let’s be a family.”

“Won’t that be confusing for George Michael?” Gob asked, staring at the picture of the three of them together on his nightstand. It was taken when George Michael was five years old and Gob insisted on taking him to the carnival at the end of summer. Michael wouldn’t let Gob take his son alone so he tagged along, Tracey having to work that night anyways.

“I think he needs a family, it’d be more normal than him living in the attic of a fake house surrounded by boxes of his dead mother’s items,” Michael sighed, burrowing further into Gob’s back. “ _We can keep living like this_.” Michael kissed the back of Gob’s neck, tightening his grip around Gob’s torso.

“Maybe,” Gob sighed. He turned around, kissing Michael’s forehead. Michael smiled, as long as Gob was there he could live like this.

 

_"Oh, brothers! I don't care for brothers. My elder brother won't die, and my younger brothers seem never to do anything else."_

―Oscar Wilde

 

Michael and George Michael moved downstairs into the model home after countless threats to move away, to Arizona or somewhere just far enough that his family could beg for him to come back and he’d have the satisfaction of telling them no for once. But, he didn’t move and they never begged.

Gob spent most of his time at the house, and if not there than at the family yacht sipping whiskey in the sun. He’d wander in and out at his leisure, never explaining his reason for being there. George Michael didn’t mind, he kind of liked having his uncle in the house filling up the walls with his loud voice and clattering of pennies.

“Uncle Gob?” George Michael asked one day, watching as a dead dove fell to his uncle’s feet.  

“Yeah, kid?” Gob replied, shoving the dove into a bag and stuffing it into the freezer.

“Why don’t you just live here?” George Michael asked, following his uncle to the kitchen. Gob stilled, his hand still on the freezer door. George Michael watched him with big, unsuspecting eyes of all the weight that question carried. “You’re here all the time anyways.”

Gob closed the freezer door, chuckling to himself and thinking that perhaps George Michael had more Michael in him than he thought.

“Yeah, maybe I will, kid.”

 

\-----

 

“George Michael asked me to move in,” Gob told Michael as he set down his last box in the living room. Michael stood with his arms crossed, watching his brother move around the boxes labelled ‘ _magic_ ’ or ‘ _clothing_ ’.

“After all those years, that’s what it took?” Michael shook his head.

Gob just leaned over, giving Michael a quick peck, “I hate disappointing kids, call it a side effect of the job.”

Michael just shook his head again as he helped his brother move his boxes into the spare room.

 

\-----

 

“Mikey?” Gob tapped Michael’s shoulder. It was their nightly routine to sneak into one of the other’s rooms, they both relished in the taboo feeling that they got. It was like they were kids again, sneaking out to the balcony and laugh into their hands silently as they wished on stars.

Michael groaned, his head against Gob’s bare chest. Gob took it as a sign to keep talking.

“You and George Michael are the best part of my life,” Gob whispered, voice cracking slightly as he continued. “The rest of the family hates me. Dad thinks I’m useless and mom has told me so since day one. _I get left out. I get left out of every plan they make_ , unless dad needs a screw up.” Gob sighed into Michael’s hair. “Thanks for still believing in me.”

“Gob, I’ll always believe in you and I’ll always love you.” Michael opened his eyes, meeting his older brother’s in the dark. “And hey, I’ll even support your magic if _that is what I have to do to be the only kid from high school who’s still in love with you.”_

Gob smiled, kissing Michael in the dark. He felt back in high school in their bed, in these moments shared between them. It was a long time after high school but the feelings were still there, Gob thought as he ran his fingers through Michael’s hair in the early morning, they just took a while to settle into something convenient for the two of them.

_And yes, we can keep living like this_

_As long as you're here I will live like this_

**Author's Note:**

> okay, i tried to be as canon complicit as i could. on michael's wiki he married tracey, who he met in high school, in his sophomore year in 1989. but, given that michael was born in 1967 that would make michael 22 in his sophomore year of college. so given the timeline of this story michael meets tracey in his sophomore year of college and still marries her in 1989 so the story would follow the same timeline as the show (i.e george michael is born in 1990, she dies in 2000, the show starts in 2003 which is when gob later moves in with michael and george michael).  
> also, yeah gob has a moped and wears converse because he's gay and it's the 80's. i originally wanted his converse to be powder blue.


End file.
